| Song | Looking for the Holes |
| Artist | Ani DiFranco |
| Album | Not So Soft |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : DiFranco | |
| I am looking for the holes | |
| The holes in your jeans | |
| Because I want to know | |
| Are they worn out in the seat | |
| Or are they worn out in the knees | |
| There are so many ways to wear | |
| What we've got before it's gone | |
| To make use of what is there | |
| I don't wear anything | |
| I can't wipe my hands on | |
| Do your politics fit between the headlines | |
| Are they written in newsprint, are they distant | |
| Mine are crossing an empty parking lot | |
| They are a woman walking home | |
| At nightAlone | |
| They are six string that sing | |
| And wood that hums against my hipbone | |
| We can't afford to do anyone harm | |
| Because we owe them our lives | |
| Each breath is recycled from someone else's lungs | |
| Are enemies are the very air in disguise | |
| You can talk a great philosophy | |
| But if you can't be kind to people | |
| Every dayIt doesn't mean that much to me | |
| It's the little things you do | |
| The little things you say | |
| It's the love you give along the way | |
| When we patch things up | |
| They say a job well done | |
| But when we ask why | |
| Where did the rips come from | |
| They say we are subversive | |
| And extreme, of course | |
| We are just trying to track a problem to its source | |
| Because we know we can't sit back | |
| And let people come to harm | |
| We owe them our lives | |
| Each breath is recycled from someone else's lungs | |
| Our enemies are the very air | |
| Our enemies are the air | |
| We are looking for the holes | |
| The holes in your jeans | |
| Because we want to know | |
| Are they worn out in the seat | |
| Or are they worn out in the knees |
| zuo ci : DiFranco | |
| I am looking for the holes | |
| The holes in your jeans | |
| Because I want to know | |
| Are they worn out in the seat | |
| Or are they worn out in the knees | |
| There are so many ways to wear | |
| What we' ve got before it' s gone | |
| To make use of what is there | |
| I don' t wear anything | |
| I can' t wipe my hands on | |
| Do your politics fit between the headlines | |
| Are they written in newsprint, are they distant | |
| Mine are crossing an empty parking lot | |
| They are a woman walking home | |
| At nightAlone | |
| They are six string that sing | |
| And wood that hums against my hipbone | |
| We can' t afford to do anyone harm | |
| Because we owe them our lives | |
| Each breath is recycled from someone else' s lungs | |
| Are enemies are the very air in disguise | |
| You can talk a great philosophy | |
| But if you can' t be kind to people | |
| Every dayIt doesn' t mean that much to me | |
| It' s the little things you do | |
| The little things you say | |
| It' s the love you give along the way | |
| When we patch things up | |
| They say a job well done | |
| But when we ask why | |
| Where did the rips come from | |
| They say we are subversive | |
| And extreme, of course | |
| We are just trying to track a problem to its source | |
| Because we know we can' t sit back | |
| And let people come to harm | |
| We owe them our lives | |
| Each breath is recycled from someone else' s lungs | |
| Our enemies are the very air | |
| Our enemies are the air | |
| We are looking for the holes | |
| The holes in your jeans | |
| Because we want to know | |
| Are they worn out in the seat | |
| Or are they worn out in the knees |
| zuò cí : DiFranco | |
| I am looking for the holes | |
| The holes in your jeans | |
| Because I want to know | |
| Are they worn out in the seat | |
| Or are they worn out in the knees | |
| There are so many ways to wear | |
| What we' ve got before it' s gone | |
| To make use of what is there | |
| I don' t wear anything | |
| I can' t wipe my hands on | |
| Do your politics fit between the headlines | |
| Are they written in newsprint, are they distant | |
| Mine are crossing an empty parking lot | |
| They are a woman walking home | |
| At nightAlone | |
| They are six string that sing | |
| And wood that hums against my hipbone | |
| We can' t afford to do anyone harm | |
| Because we owe them our lives | |
| Each breath is recycled from someone else' s lungs | |
| Are enemies are the very air in disguise | |
| You can talk a great philosophy | |
| But if you can' t be kind to people | |
| Every dayIt doesn' t mean that much to me | |
| It' s the little things you do | |
| The little things you say | |
| It' s the love you give along the way | |
| When we patch things up | |
| They say a job well done | |
| But when we ask why | |
| Where did the rips come from | |
| They say we are subversive | |
| And extreme, of course | |
| We are just trying to track a problem to its source | |
| Because we know we can' t sit back | |
| And let people come to harm | |
| We owe them our lives | |
| Each breath is recycled from someone else' s lungs | |
| Our enemies are the very air | |
| Our enemies are the air | |
| We are looking for the holes | |
| The holes in your jeans | |
| Because we want to know | |
| Are they worn out in the seat | |
| Or are they worn out in the knees |